The main
articles sought by the savages in barter were knives; as fast as
some were supplied they moved off, and others succeeded. By
degrees they were thus distributed about the deck, and all with
weapons.
The anchor was now nearly up, the sails were loose, and the
captain, in a loud and peremptory tone, ordered the ship to be
cleared. In an instant, a signal yell was given; it was echoed on
every side, knives and war-clubs were brandished in every
direction, and the savages rushed upon their marked victims.
The first that fell was Mr. Lewis, the ship's clerk. He was
leaning, with folded arms, over a bale of blankets, engaged in
bargaining, when he received a deadly stab in the back, and fell
down the companion-way.
Mr. M'Kay, who was seated on the taffrail, sprang on his feet,
but was instantly knocked down with a war-club and flung
backwards into the sea, where he was despatched by the women in
the canoes.
In the meantime Captain Thorn made desperate fight against
fearful odds. He was a powerful as well as a resolute man, but he
had come upon deck without weapons. Shewish, the young chief
singled him out as his peculiar prey, and rushed upon him at the
first outbreak. The captain had barely time to draw a clasp-knife
with one blow of which he laid the young savage dead at his feet.
Several of the stoutest followers of Shewish now set upon him. He
defended himself vigorously, dealing crippling blows to right and
left, and strewing the quarter-deck with the slain and wounded.
His object was to fight his way to the cabin, where there were
fire-arms; but he was hemmed in with foes, covered with wounds,
and faint with loss of blood. For an instant he leaned upon the
tiller wheel, when a blow from behind, with a war-club, felled
him to the deck, where he was despatched with knives and thrown
overboard.
While this was transacting upon the quarter-deck, a chance-medley
fight was going on throughout the ship. The crew fought
desperately with knives, handspikes, and whatever weapon they
could seize upon in the moment of surprise. They were soon,
however, overpowered by numbers, and mercilessly butchered.
As to the seven who had been sent aloft to make sail, they
contemplated with horror the carnage that was going on below.
Being destitute of weapons, they let themselves down by the
running rigging, in hopes of getting between decks. One fell in
the attempt, and was instantly despatched; another received a
death-blow in the back as he was descending; a third, Stephen
Weekes, the armorer, was mortally wounded as he was getting down
the hatchway.
The remaining four made good their retreat into the cabin, where
they found Mr. Lewis, still alive, though mortally wounded.
Barricading the cabin door, they broke holes through the
companion-way, and, with the muskets and ammunition which were at
hand, opened a brisk fire that soon cleared the deck.
Thus far the Indian interpreter, from whom these particulars are
derived, had been an eye-witness to the deadly conflict. He had
taken no part in it, and had been spared by the natives as being
of their race. In the confusion of the moment he took refuge with
the rest, in the canoes. The survivors of the crew now sallied
forth, and discharged some of the deck-guns, which did great
execution among the canoes, and drove all the savages to shore.
For the remainder of the day no one ventured to put off to the
ship, deterred by the effects of the fire-arms. The night passed
away without any further attempts on the part of the natives.
When the day dawned, the Tonquin still lay at anchor in the bay,
her sails all loose and flapping in the wind, and no one
apparently on board of her. After a time, some of the canoes
ventured forth to reconnoitre, taking with them the interpreter.
They paddled about her, keeping cautiously at a distance, but
growing more and more emboldened at seeing her quiet and
lifeless. One man at length made his appearance on the deck, and
was recognized by the interpreter as Mr. Lewis. He made friendly
signs, and invited them on board. It was long before they
ventured to comply. Those who mounted the deck met with no
opposition; no one was to be seen on board; for Mr. Lewis, after
inviting them, had disappeared. Other canoes now pressed forward
to board the prize; the decks were soon crowded, and the sides
covered with clambering savages, all intent on plunder. In the
midst of their eagerness and exultation, the ship blew up with a
tremendous explosion. Arms, legs, and mutilated bodies were blown
into the air, and dreadful havoc was made in the surrounding
canoes. The interpreter was in the main-chains at the time of the
explosion, and was thrown unhurt into the water, where he
succeeded in getting into one of the canoes. According to his
statement, the bay presented an awful spectacle after the
catastrophe. The ship had disappeared, but the bay was covered
with fragments of the wreck, with shattered canoes, and Indians
swimming for their lives, or struggling in the agonies of death;
while those who had escaped the danger remained aghast and
stupefied, or made with frantic panic for the shore. Upwards of a
hundred savages were destroyed by the explosion, many more were
shockingly mutilated, and for days afterwards the limbs and
bodies of the slain were thrown upon the beach.
The inhabitants of Neweetee were overwhelmed with consternation
at this astounding calamity, which had burst upon them in the
very moment of triumph. The warriors sat mute and mournful, while
the women filled the air with loud lamentations.
